Days Go By
by IConcurVehemently
Summary: Booth's "dead" - and we've got two weeks before the funeral. What happens to our favorite duo during the time in between? I know it's been done before, but here's my day-by-day account from both POVs. B&B of course!
1. Day One: Booth

**Hello! My name's IConcurVehemently (after my favorite Bones quote), or Vehe for short. This is my first _Bones_ fic. **

**I know the "what happened in between Booth's 'death' and the funeral?" thing has been done before, but this is my take on it. We'll have around 14 days, each told from both Booth's and Bones' perspectives. I might skip a few days if I feel they're insignificant - no use in writing stuff that's unimportant, right? **

**Well, on with the story! I hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bones. If I did, Hodgins and Angela would be married by now.

* * *

**Booth:**

"Damn it, Bones, where's my belt buckle?" I muttered as I fumbled through my garbage bag smorgagbourg of belongings: badge, gun (Jesus Christ, that thing was loaded! Who the hell put that in – oh, safety's on. 'Atta girl, Bones.), cell phone, wallet – it had held all my clothes too, until I realized that I was butt-naked except for that airy hospital gown. Female nurse. Awkward.

But where the hell was my belt buckle?

I was completely ready to go, even though it was three in the morning. And I had to go – nobody's supposed to see the dead guy. Me. The dead guy.

That would take some getting used to.

* * *

I mumbled her name when I woke up – Cullen laughed. Awkward.

"Good morning, sunshine."

"Sir." I straightened in my bed. "My apologies."

He laughed. "Well, with the way she was hovering, I'm not surprised you thought I was her. Was a hell of a time convincing her to leave."

_What?_ "What'd you do to her?" Too protective. Crap. "Er, where is she?"

"Downstairs cafeteria. We slipped crushed hunger-inducing steroid pills into a cup of pudding. Didn't take much more than that – she hasn't really eaten in the past two days." He smiled mischievously. "I had forgotten how fun squint-stumping is."

Relief. "So, I'll see her?" Too hopeful – his eyes widened questioningly at the joy in my tone. Crap. "I – I have to thank her. For saving my life, you know. Hand compression on the wound."

He wasn't buying it.

"That's sweet. But no – you're leaving."

"What?! No. Why?"

"Kid, let me paint a little picture for you. You chase wanted fugitive. You find said fugitive. You fight wanted fugitive. He says he's not coming back until your funeral."

"But…I'm not dead?" The statement stumbled out as a question.

"Good boy," he replied condescendingly. "You're not dead. But Richards doesn't know that, does he? You got fifteen minutes, Booth. Then you're out of here."

"But Bones!" I protested. "What's she gonna think if I just – you know – die? C'mon, sir! I can't do that!"

His patience was clearly spent. "Are you dead, Booth?"

"No – er, yes, well…" I grimaced sheepishly. "That's sort of complicated right now, Sir."

"You give the Bureau a list of people – _trustworthy_ people – to tell you're not dead. If you want," he paused, "she's on it. But if your butt ain't out of here in ten, we'll see how you take another bullet. Am I understood?"

* * *

So here I was, three minutes left and counting, with everything but my belt buckle. Belt, yeah – but what the hell am I supposed to do with a belt when I can't attach it?

Agent Collins stands nervously by the door – he's new. Cullen says, Collins does.

"C'mon, Booth. We've gotta get out of here. I'm supposed to shoot you if you don't, you know." He fidgets with his hands.

"Cool it, Junior. I'm not walking down the hall like some gangster with his pants at his ankles." I rifle through the bag one more time.

"She probably took it as a keepsake. She seemed pretty attached to you…"

"What? How?" The bag breaks as I accidentally shove my hand through the plastic. Contents clatter noisily to the floor. I curse under my breath.

"She wouldn't leave your side. Them other squints, yeah, they did the same – but not like her." I looked over at the chair next to my bed. You could still see the outline of her legs in the faux leather. "Two days, man. Didn't move, ever."

"Yeah, that's Bones." I scoop up what fell – cell phone, wallet, gun.

Junior gets nervous suddenly. "Sir, we need to go, now. Or Doctor Brennan will see you."

_You say that like it's a bad thing._ "Take it easy, kid. We're going." Beltless.

Damn it, Bones! Where the hell's my belt buckle?

* * *

**Poor Booth! The Cocky belt buckle will come back in the future - I promise!**

**Please tell me what you think! Should I continue this or leave it as a oneshot?**

**Thank you, thank you, thank you!!**


	2. Day One: Brennan

**Hello again! I hope you like it so far! Here's Brennan's view of what happens. **

**New Zealand **- thank you for being my first review! I hope you like this chapter as much as the last!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Bones. If I did, Cam would have a better story.

* * *

**Brennan:**

I don't even know why I ate that pudding in the first place. I don't even _like_ strawberry pudding.

"How is he?"

The agent across the little blue cafeteria table replies, dryly: "Same as he was thirty seconds ago. Comatose, doc."

"I should be up there. What if he wakes up?" He was being quite stubborn. And I was being quite annoying.

"It'll be a miracle," he mutters under his breath.

"Anthropologically speaking, other males become intimidated by the alpha male. When he gets hurt, they bask in the event because it gives them a chance to move up the pack hierarchy. Given that Booth is an alpha male, I believe that you are somewhat satisfied by his accident?"

"I'm not gonna be satisfied until you shut up," he grumbles; quickly he amends: "I mean, until you've eaten enough, ma'am."

"It's perfectly normal for you to snap at me. The human body only stimulates hormone production long enough for the body to…"

"Doctor Brennan, why don't I get you a drink?" He quickly stands to leave, practically knocking over the small table.

"But wait!" I call after him. He's too far away to hear me. "You don't even know what I want!"

Thirty minutes eventually pass; even the elevator seems to linger on each floor longer than necessary. My thoughts are nothing but Booth. His smile. His laugh. His reassuring looks.

His caked blood on my skin.

How could a man seem so much like a soap bubble? Normally, Booth was so strong – but here, in that little bed in his little hospital room, he seemed so breakable. I was afraid to touch him, for fear that the iridescent sheen that was his life would burst, and I would be left with nothing.

* * *

I had done what science had made me an expert at doing; I observed. I watched his labored breathing, how his chest rose and fell with tremendous effort. I let my eyes search every part of his body. His muscular arms rest at his sides; I looked at how the muscle ran beneath his skin, how his tricep muscle gently bulged. I wanted to run my fingers over the ridges and valleys it created.

Seeley Booth truly was a beautiful specimen.

I spent my time memorizing every part of his body. When I came across an old injury, it saddened me – sometimes, I'd see that it could have healed, but he didn't take proper care of it. That made me angry. When I came across a new injury, I'd mentally stomp myself (was that the term?) for not noticing it before. What kind of partner was I, not noticing these things? Even if they were too small to cause a change in gate or posture, I was the best, wasn't I? And he deserved the best.

I was in the middle of memorizing his left calf when an agent came in. He handed me a cup of opened pudding. "Eat it," he'd urged. "You're dead on your feet."

"I don't know what that means." One, I was sitting, so technically I was not 'on my feet.' Two, being 'on my feet' or not had nothing to do with my appetite. And three, I was not dead.

He shot me a quizzical look, then rolled his eyes. "It means you're tired."

"Oh. Well why didn't you say so?" I looked from Booth to him. Booth would have explained it so I understood.

"Because…I didn't…most people…well, never mind. Just eat the pudding."

"I don't like strawberry pudding."

"I know – Agent Booth even told me." He grinned. I was really confused.

"Then…why did you give me pudding you knew I wouldn't eat. That isn't rational at all."

"Because I _also_ know that Booth was trying to get you to try fruit pie. Maybe if you like the strawberry pudding – which is sort of like pie, I guess – you'll like the pie eventually." He scratched the back of his neck. "And he'll know you're trying for him – "

"As Booth is in a coma, he will not know anything." I replied. That was simple logic. This agent must have been new. Or stupid.

"Yeah, but…trust me. He'll know. He always tells me about how close you two are." He flashed me a smile, trying to persuade me like Booth does. He had nice teeth – but it had nowhere near the same effect.

"Stop trying to charm-smile me. Booth does that enough." But I swiftly took the cup and forced the pudding down.

* * *

The elevator finally stops, and once the doors open, I walk towards Booth's room. A kind-looking African American nurse touches my arm with gentle force, indicating that she wants my attention, not that she wants to hurt me.

"I'm so sorry for what you've gone through, Dr. Brennan." Her wide brown eyes are oddly dark.

"Thank you. I agree. Strawberry pudding was not a good introduction to the world of fruity foods for me. Perhaps you should speak with the cafeteria manager. It is not enjoyable."

She only looks bewildered before I continue down the hallway, my high heels impatiently clicking against the tile.

I round the final corner, completely ignoring the agent's calls of "Wait up!" or "Slow down!" and barraging on anyways. Booth's door was open. A joyous thought invades my mind: _He's awake!_

I run down the rest of the hallway and turn into his room. "Booth!" I cry happily, blinking back tears. "You're awake!"

I expected him to be sitting up in bed, one hand on a remote (trying to find SportsCentral or whatever it was called) and the other on a cup of pudding. Nurses would be around flirting with him – he was charming, you couldn't deny that – but they'd scatter once I entered the room. He'd look at me and I'd look at him and I'd rush over and throw my arms around his neck and I'd tell him that I missed him, and I was angry at him for almost dying for me, but I was so grateful for him _saving me_…

And then we'd…we'd…

There were no brown eyes waiting for me, no charm smile to make me laugh. There were no nurses to annoy me by being too close to him. There was no lull of a baseball game. There was no laughter to be heard. There was nobody to hug, nobody to chastise for being so _stupid_ to risk his life for me…

There was no Booth. There was nothing but an empty bed.

With unseeing eyes, I walk to the side of his bed where only thirty minutes before, I had internalized the muscles of his leg. I sit down on the corner, and my hands find my pockets. Cold metal greets the fingertips of my right hand. Slowly, I pull out my favorite piece of Booth: his Cocky belt buckle.

It was so _him_. It was a joke – he had always made me smile. It was pride – he had always known that he was a good partner, a good friend – a good man. It was a warning – he was the alpha. We were his pack. But most of all, it was a tradition. He wore it every day. He made me smile every day. He made me proud every day. And every day, he warned others that I was his Bones.

I run my fingers over the smoothed metal. And I begin to cry.

* * *

**It's ok, Brennan...he'll be back. And strawberry hospital pudding is awful. **

**What'd you guys think?**


	3. Day Two: Booth

**Hello again! Thank you guys so much for reading, all of you! This is my first real fic, and it's so nice to have such a responsive audience.**

**There's some slight language in this chapter. Nothing too bad though!**

**KristieM –** Yes, strawberry pudding is unfortunately real. My sister spent two and a half weeks in the hospital earlier this year, and I made the unfortunate mistake of having some. Eww.

**Bb4evr** – Thank you so much!

**M. Rig **– Please don't cry! And thank you for your kind words! 

**Ariacle **– Thank you!

**Disclaimer:** _Bones_ is not mine. If it were, Booth and Brennan would be married by now, and they would have adopted me. And I would be dating Wendell.

* * *

I got home around four thirty A.M.

The entire car ride, Collins kept trying to make small talk. He tried just about every topic you can think of – no, scratch that. He tried just about every topic I did _not _want to talk about at four in the morning.

"So, you and Brennan, huh?" He asked after exhausting Parker, why my relationship with Rebecca had gone wrong, if I'd ever seen Angela go at it with a girl (he'd heard she was with Roxy for a while), and Jared being fired. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, like Angela does. But when Ange does it, it comes off as joking. With Collins, it came off as downright derogatory.

"One, you refer to her as _Doctor_ Brennan. _Doctor_, as in she's a hell of a lot smarter than you. Two, she's my partner. Get your eight year-old mind out of the gutter, Collins." I knew I was being short tempered, but hell, it was four in the morning! Plus I was pissed because I couldn't drive my own truck, damn it.

"Sorry, sir. I just thought…"

"Yeah, yeah – everyone does. Don't make yourself one of 'em, Junior."

"She _is_ hot, sir…" _Did Sweets talk to this guy?_ I wondered, annoyed.

"Yes she is." Well, that was true, couldn't deny that. "She's my partner and my best friend."

"So you've banged her, then?" I felt like I was in the locker room after football practice in tenth grade again. Except this time I couldn't slam the questioning jerk into a concrete wall.

"Collins, you say one more thing about my partner and I _will_ shoot you between the eyes. And don't think for a second that my current condition has any impact on my aim," I growled. _Did he just shrink a little in his seat?_ _I sure hope so._ "Temperance Brennan is more of a woman than you'll ever even _dream_ of being with because immature assholes like you don't get the incredible fortune of working with them. She's a genius, funny, beautiful, caring, and trusting. She deserves the best partner that she can get from the Bureau; that's why I'm with her. Maybe you haven't figured this out yet – people like me get to work with people like her because we're damn good agents. And when damn good agents like me get pissed off because of agents like _you_," I glared for added effect, "agents like you get assigned desk duty because you are unfit to work with living people. Do I make myself clear, Collins?"

I realized how much I sounded like an overprotective boyfriend – no, in Bones' case, I was more like an overprotective husband. But I didn't care. Nobody got to talk about her like that. "_So you've banged her, then?"_ just because she was gorgeous? Not on my watch.

"Absolutely, sir. I'm s-s-sorry, sir," he stuttered. That was more like it – cowering, tail between his legs. He was silent for the rest of the car ride.

I love being the Alpha Male.

* * *

Collins was like an overzealous puppy dog when we reached my townhouse.

"Sir, let me get that," he offered, reaching for my garbage bag. I rotated my good arm so he couldn't.

"Cool it, Junior. I got it."

"In all respect sir, you shouldn't be straining yourself." After my little outburst, he was trying his hardest to get back into my good graces. Apparently, someone didn't want to be banished to desk duty.

"It weighs all of two pounds. I think I can handle it."

"Really, sir, I don't want you to hurt yourself." He reached again; I rotated again.

"I said I got it!"

"Sorry, sir!" He shrank back again; I almost laughed. "Let me get the door, then!" He jumped out of my car, running to the door like a dog waiting for his master to throw him a ball to retrieve.

"No thanks, Junior. I don't want you anywhere near my door."

He started laughing, chortling the nervous laughter one uses when he's trying to impress someone above him. "You're funny, sir. Let me help you – "

"Damn it, Collins, you touch _one_ more thing on my property and I _will_ shoot you. Now get out."

"Sir," he laughed again, a sheepish grin on his stupid face, "I have to sleep here. I don't have a way to get home."

"Call a taxi," I grunted. Turning the key in my lock proved to be painful, even with my good arm. I accidentally moved my shoulder while twisting my wrist and pain spasmed through my entire upper body.

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" he yelled from my sidewalk.

"Your title's _Special_ Agent Matthew Collins, right? Figure it out, Junior!" I responded as I opened the door. He was in the middle of saying something when I slammed the door shut.

* * *

"I'm dead beat," I muttered to myself. With a sad smile, I thought of Bones.

"_That makes absolutely no sense, Booth. Clearly, you haven't been beaten dead if you're still standing," she would say with a quizzical look. "And why have you been beaten dead? Did you do something bad?" _I would probably laugh at the confusion in her blue eyes.

_What were those eyes doing now? _I wondered darkly. _Staring in disbelief? Crying? Seeley Booth, you bastard, you left her for dead. By being dead. _I felt a headache forming. _I need some sleep._

But what _was_ Bones doing? She wouldn't believe that I was dead – no, she'd believe that I was fighting. For her. With another sad smile, I realized I was. She was the first thing I thought of when I woke up. She was the last thing I'd thought of before I went out.

Basically, she was _all_ I thought about. And right now, she was thinking that I was dead. What if she had put up more walls? What if the next time I saw her, I had to look into the same icy blue stare that had nearly killed me when I first met her? Would that look have "Caused by Seeley Booth" written all over it? Would I have to grovel and beg for her to forgive me? Or would she simply be thrilled that her partner was alive?

I reached into my pocket (ouch) and pulled out my cell phone. 4:33 A.M. Was it too late to call her?

_Yeah,_ I decided. _She'll be sleeping. Hopefully, she's with Angela. __And hopefully, she won't kill me when I call her and tell her I'm alive._ That phone call would just have to wait until morning. I didn't want to disturb my sleeping Bones. The woman had lost forty eight hours of life over me already; I owed her some rest at the very least.

Taking off my shirt was possibly the most painful thing I've ever done. Every time I moved either arm even a fraction of a nanometer or whatever Bones would call it, angry pain shot coursed through my entire body. I almost fell over twice. Once I finally freed myself of my shirt, I quickly undid my pants – no problem, seeing _I wasn't wearing a belt,_ I thought darkly.

I stared down at the once-white bandage that covered my wound – it wasn't there. I gingerly toed around my shirt on the floor; sure enough, there it was, stuck to the inside. I glanced down at the broken flesh again – what I could see of it was a sickly yellow. For the first time in a long time, I felt truly nauseous.

I had one last thought as I fell to my bed, exhausted: _I'll get that in the morning. _

* * *

**Poor Booth! What's he gonna do without Brennan? I figured he lived in a townhouse because of the whole "key-in-the-fake-rock"** **thing that Brennan brought up when she barged into his bathroom. He'd have to have a semi-lawn for that, right?**

**Please review! I want to know what you guys think!**


	4. Day Two: Brennan

**You guys set a new record for my story! Over one thousand hits! ONE THOUSAND! I'd love to give all of you personal thank-you's, but I can only respond to the people who review. So to everyone who's read this so far, thank you all!**

**Bb4evr – **Thank you so much! I agree; he should have called her, but he didn't in the show, and I'm trying to stay true to character, even if they're being stupid. And thank you for reviewing again!

**Rhea Michelle Malone – **Thank you! This is my first fic, so it means a lot to me that you think that I'm writing in character well!

**Mendenbar **– Thank you for the update on where Booth lives! But if he lives on top of a liquor store, which I totally believe the writers would do, why would he have a fake rock? Talk about your obvious…I'll have to go back and fix that.

**Disclaimer:** I obviously do not own _Bones_ – if I did, in "The End in the Beginning," Booth and Bren (aka my mom and dad) would not have hired my boyfriend, Wendell, as the bodyguard. Seeing as that job is _extremely_ dangerous, they would have hired someone else, because there's no way my Wendell would get hurt. Instead, he would be the guitar player in my band. :)

* * *

**Brennan:**

I repeated my mantra that I had first created when I decided to enter the field of Forensic Anthropology.

_Stay detached._

Why?

_Because you're designed to work with dead people._

Why?

_Because no living person has ever cared about you for long. And it hurts when they leave you._

Why?

_Because when you care about someone, you begin to count on them. And they inevitably leave. And that hurts. And the process is inevitable; don't bother asking why._

_Just stay detached._

I continued my mental series of questions and answers, my eyes squeezed firmly shut. I could numbly feel the firm hospital bed beneath me, the plastic end touching my thigh. My feet rested on the floor underneath their high heels. After a long while of racking sobs, my chest now rose and fell in defeat. I continued my internal mantra.

_Stay detached._

Why?

_Because you're designed to work with dead people._

_Stay detached._

_Stay detached._

I slowly opened my eyes.

_Stay detached. _

_Stay detached._

Blue eyes met red metal.

Muffled sob met deathly stillness.

Clear liquid met ivory cheeks, once stained with blush.

I clamped my eyes shut.

_Stay…detached…_

* * *

"Why can't I see the body?"

"It has already been taken to the morgue. We don't allow the families of patients into the morgue, Dr. Brennan," the nurse repeated for the fifth time. I could tell she was trying very hard to remain polite.

I wasn't.

"My name is Doctor Temperance Brennan. I'm a forensic anthropologist. I work with dead people every day. I see dead bodies on a daily basis. I want to see Booth's. Please take me to the morgue."

"I'm aware that you are extremely well-trained in the field concerning dead bodies, Dr. Brennan, but you can't go to the morgue. Hospital policies. I'm sorry," she replied, her eyes never leaving her computer screen. She was playing Solitaire.

Throwing my hands up in frustration, I walked away, heels clicking angrily against the polished squares of tile. I would find the morgue myself. I started down one hallway, curiously peeking around each corner, looking for signs.

Why was I going to the morgue? What did I expect, to see my partner sitting on a table, alive and laughing? Did I expect him to smile at me, flash me his charm smile, and say "Gotcha, Bones?"

_Yes - _I started to internally answer._ No. Seeley Booth is dead. You need closure, that's all. You need to see his dead body._

I didn't like the way my stomach lurched with those words.

Hadn't I already been down this hallway? Room 207 – I'd been here. Possibly. Or I'd been down hallways that looked like these at least a dozen times while trying to avoid the nurses' station.

That was the most statistically probable answer.

_What would Booth do?_ I wondered. My stomach lurched again as I thought about his smile, his laugh, the way he would joke with me. _Focus on the facts, Temperance. What would he _do_, not what would he look like…_

For the first time in what seemed like ages, a slow smile spread across my face. It hurt my cheeks – they seemed to forget what that was like. I saw two men in scrubs approaching me, their polished black shoes clicking along the floor as they walked.

"Excuse me," I called out, fishing for my Jeffersonian ID card and flashing it, "can you show me where the morgue is? I'm Doctor Temperance Brennan, and I was called in to identify a body," I explained. _What the hell_, I thought. _If you're playing dirty, you might as well get filthy. _"They suspect foul play."

I swore I could hear Booth laughing.

* * *

"Do you need any help, ma'am?" the one who identified himself as Dr. Adams asked me. He was a tall man with thick curly black hair. He wore glasses that were much too large for his face. He looked…squintish. Another Booth reference. Could my stomach lurch any more?

"No, thank you." I flashed them a smile, trying to imitate Booth's trademark grin. "I can do it myself. I wouldn't want to keep you two gentlemen," I chuckled internally – _Booth would flirt in this situation too_, I thought,_ "_from anything important."

"Well, let us know if you need help, Dr. Brennan." They turned to exit the room. The other man, a shorter, stouter doctor in contrast to his friend, threw over his shoulder, "We won't be out of earshot, Doc." He smiled. The flirting worked, apparently.

I did a half-turn, fighting to keep my eyes open. _These are dead people, Tempe. You work with dead people. You're good with dead people. _I saw at least ten body bags, all atop silver gurneys. The silver usually reassured me – it was simple, clean, and professional.

There was nothing professional about what I was doing now.

I tiptoed over to the first gurney. I gently moved my hand to the zipper, and pulled down slightly. Middle aged woman, blonde hair that was obviously died, slight wrinkles – not Booth. The sharp sound of the zipper moving back up its path made me jump.

Next body bag. Elderly male, mid-to-late seventies, Caucasian – not Booth.

Number three. African American female, early twenties, obviously a cancer patient. Not Booth.

Teenage child. Red hair, many freckles. Blunt force trauma to the head. Not Booth.

I finally reached the last bag. Inhaling deeply, I only pushed the zipper down far enough so I could see the hair: spiky brown. A Caucasian forehead peeked out.

Closure.

I pulled the zipper down a little bit farther – dull blue eyes stared back at me. The man's tousled beard still held chunks of vomit.

Not. Booth.

Not. My. Booth.

I swallowed back a sob, and it choked me. Gasping for air, I slid down against the hard concrete wall behind me.

_Stay detached,_ someone in my mind whispered.

The tears came harder and faster, streaking down my cheeks with a vengeance. They slipped down my face and hit the hard, unfeeling tile, where they shattered.

Sort of like me.

_Stay detached_.

"Booth," I sobbed, barely recognizing my own voice. "Please – "

_Stay detached._

I was staring into his eyes, his mouth opened in shock. A cold sweat had broken upon his forehead, the occasional droplet streaking down his frightened face. "C'mon, Booth!" I had begged him. He was fighting. He was fighting for me.

_Stay detached._

"People like me just don't get to be part of a family," I had said. And over the years, he had taught me otherwise. Through odd trinkets, a familiar cup of coffee, and the sureness of his eyes, he showed me that someone could care about Temperance Brennan.

_Stay detached._

I was taking shots with him in his office after a case. He was bolstering flamboyant Russian words that I didn't understand. I was too busy trying to make sure I put my Dixie cup back on the table. Once, it didn't make it there.

"You missed, Bones," he drawled, charm evidence in his smile and in his sparkling eyes.

That was the first night I had giggled in front of him.

_Stay detached._

_Stay detached._

"NO!" I screamed through the racking sobs that violently shook my body. "I want to feel…"

"Dr. Brennan!" One of the kind doctors who had shown me this cold room shouted my name.

"She's hysterical!" the other replied. It was true – I was hyperventilating.

"Get her a sedative!"

"Oh my god!" a female voice cried. "How'd she get in here?"

"She said she had to identify a body!"

"She can barely breathe!"

"Get her a sedative!"

"Dr. Brennan, can you hear me?"

I felt something sharp thrust its way into my neck. When I hit the cold floor, I was as unfeeling as it was.

* * *

**All criticisms are welcome!**

**Thank you all for reading!**


	5. Day Three: Booth

**I just realized that there might be a slight discrepancy in my writing. In the first chapter, I wrote that Booth woke up after two days. So, there are fourteen days from when he "dies" to his funeral. Just clearing that up. **

**Mendenbar – **I agree with you. For the sake of this story, I'm going to have Booth stay in a townhouse because I think the fake rock outside an apartment looks trashy and because I think a full house in D.C. would be INCREDIBLY expensive. Thank you so much for bringing that to my attention. If there are any other details I neglect to give full attention to, please tell me right away! Thank you so much for reading my story!

**WhiteRose0925 – **I always have too! Thank you for reading!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Bones_. If I did, Wendell wouldn't be named Wendell. There's only two ways to shorten that. We could call him "Wen," which sounds like the common pronoun, or "Wendy," which is a bad idea. For obvious reasons.

* * *

_I was outside an old-fashioned church. The large whitewashed building loomed before me; I wasn't sure why I was here, but something didn't settle well with me about the situation. I walked up the three stone steps, took one wooden handle, and pulled an ominous door open, finding myself in an empty lobby. There were a set of polished double doors in front of me, each set with stained glass windows, and a smaller, plain wooden door to my right. I turned, opened the wooden door, and walked down the revealed hallway. There were doors all along the way, but I walked towards the last one – I had an intuitive sense that I should go there. So I did._

_I quietly pushed the door open. Inside sat a woman in a long, white gown – it was her wedding day from the looks of it. Her head was turned away from me, allowing beautiful chestnut hair to flow down her shoulders in defined curls. I didn't need to see her face; I'd know that silhouette anywhere. _

"_Bones," I murmured. She didn't hear me. "Bones!" I tried again. Her shoulders went rigid; she was ignoring me, and I didn't know why. _

"_Temperance," I corrected. The woman turned her head slightly, just enough so I could see half of her nose but no more. _

"_Mr. Booth," she replied. _

"_Mr. Booth? Bones, it's me. Just Booth." She had _never_ called me "Mr. Booth." _

"_Why are you here, Mr. Booth?"_

"_I – I don't know," I fumbled, "but it's your wedding day! It's a big day for you!" I plastered on my charm smile, trying to ease the situation. "Why would I miss my partner's wedding, huh?"_

"_I'm not your partner, Mr. Booth," she replied icily._

"_Wha – Why? Since when, Bones?" Once again, she didn't reply. I sighed – I'd have to play her game if I wanted to get anything out of her. "When was our partnership terminated, Temperance?" I tried again._

"_Three years ago, Mr. Booth."_

"_May I ask why?"_

_She turned her body, moving with the grace of a ballerina, so I could see her entire face. At first, I thought she had on really heavy makeup – her eyes were dark, especially at the lid, and her lips were a deep red, shining against her pristine teeth. She stood; I stepped closer to my former partner. I gasped out of shock; she wore no makeup. Her eyes were murky shades of purple and charcoal surrounding defeated blue – someone had punched her, and they had punched her hard. Her lips were bloody, stained scarlet from abuse. A long shadow fell across her left cheek, and one earlobe was ripped. Blood rushed through my body, partly due to anger and partly due to fear. _

"_Temper – Bones," I corrected. Her given name didn't feel right, not like this. "Who did this to you?"_

_A door behind her opened, and in strode a man in a well-pressed tux. I knew Bones was shivering in fear, although I couldn't see it – but why did I need to see it when I could sense it? I knew her in and out. The man kept his head turned as he strode towards Bones. _

"_This is my best friend, Mr. Booth," she explained quietly, her eyes never leaving the figure approaching her._

"_Who did this to you, Bones?" I demanded. The man faced her with his back towards me. She quickly inhaled – it was almost a cry – and I looked up from the floor in time to see his hand connect with her left cheek, causing a loud crack to sound. Bones hit the floor unconscious, her white dress pooling around her. The man turned to face me, his large shoulders heaving. My mouth fell open in shock. _

_He was me._

"_You did," he said. _

_

* * *

_

I woke up panting and drenched in a cold sweat. The sheets stuck to me like they were awkwardly hugging me. I tried to peel them off, but one stuck to my chest – I looked down and saw the sickly yellow stain. I hadn't dressed the wound the night before – now the sheet was stuck to it.

"Agh!" I moaned as I slowly peeled it off, feeling every individual fiber of the scab break painfully. After what seemed like ages, the sheet fell from my chest. I looked down at it and got nauseous, gagging internally.

I walked to my bathroom and braced my hands on the counter, looking at myself. I was a wreck – my hair stuck up in all different directions, sweat poured down my face and chest, and that ugly sulfur-colored hole stared me down. Fighting the need to throw up, I splashed water on my face.

_If Bones were here, she'd know how to fix that. _I thought, then laughed to myself. _Actually, if Bones were here, I wouldn't be having this problem, because she would have dressed the wound last night. _I shuddered, thinking of my dream again. It was so bizarre – I'm not sure if Bones would ever get married, even if she found the right guy. I reached into the medicine cabinet and found some Neosporin. And she had kept calling me "Mr. Booth" – that made me uncomfortable. I unscrewed the cap and squeezed some of the clear gel on my finger. _At least you were the best man!_ I thought as I dabbed some on the hole.

"Yow!" I yelped as the unscabbed area screamed in stinging protest. My hands flew to the countertop to steady me. _Yeah, _I thought darkly through the pain. _You were the best man that beat her._

I _had_ to call her. How much pain was she in right now? I knew she thought I was dead, and I hadn't written that list thing yet. I slapped some gauze on the wound and messily taped it. It would hold for a while. I stumbled back into my bedroom. _Why is it so dark?_

My alarm clock answered my unspoken question; it was eight thirty at night. _I had slept for sixteen hours?_ I was baffled. I didn't even do that as a teenager!

I fumbled for my phone. _Get it, press speed dial one, hear her voice, explain that I'm not dead, listen to her yell at me but be glad to hear her voice…_ that sounded like a good plan.

It was interrupted by three quick knocks on my door.

"Coming, Bones!" I yelled in delight. I didn't even care that I was just wearing my boxers – this was so much better than a lousy phone call!

_Maybe she'll be furious. Or maybe she'll be so happy to see me that she gives me a hug or something,_ I thought delightedly. _She'll yell at me, yeah, but I mean, it's Bones! She'll be happy I'm alive, right?_ I could feel the boyish grin on my face. This was better than Christmas morning.

I pulled open the door. Cullen stared back at me, seemingly amused.

"You're not Bones."

He chuckled. "And you're smarter than a fifth grader, aren't you?"

I snapped back into professional mode – well, as professional as a guy who just woke up and answered the door in his boxers expecting his partner can be. "Sir..." I hoped I wasn't blushing. "How may I help you?"

"Booth, you can't be here. I need you ready to leave in ten."

"What? Why?"

"Collins is an idiot." He pressed a hand to his forehead. "I told him to bring you to safety. I meant a motel or something. How obvious is it gonna be to Richards if he drives by your house and your lights are on? Dead people don't have alive apartments."

"So where am I going now?" I tried to mask the frustration in my voice.

"I'll tell you once you're in the car. My car. Ten minutes, Booth."

"Sir, I have to call Dr. Brennan," I explained.

"Not until you give me that list, you don't. FBI protocol. Are you sure you're one of our top agents?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Ten, Booth. I'll be waiting." He closed the door in front of him.

This was really not the midnight breakfast with my partner I had been hoping for.

* * *

**Please review! I'm open to anything!**


	6. Day Three: Brennan

**I'm sorry this took so long to get up! I've been having internet issues. Grr.**

**Alphadine: **Thank you so much!

**Meg: **Thank you!

**Rhea: **Haha thanks! I'm glad you liked it!

**Love0someone0shika: **Thank you!

**Medenbar: **Thank you again and again for your feedback! Personally, I think it's cruel to name your child something like Wendell. And I agree - someone deserves to be pushed down the stairs!!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bones. If I did, Angela would have gone to Starbucks with me tonight; instead, I drank coffee by myself. Bummer.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

At first, I thought I had been kidnapped again.

I woke up with no recollection of my surroundings – keeping my eyes closed, I felt for where I was with my body. The soft comfort that supported me was, from my deductions, a bed – and a very nice bed at that. If my captor was keeping me in an expensive bed, then I highly doubted that he was planning on shining a blinding light in my eyes if I opened them. So I did.

I was in a dark room with wine red walls. Wood, stained with polyurethane, ran up the sides of the walls to their waists; large windows stretched up the rest of the walls from there in architecturally strategic places. The comforter of the bed that I rested upon matched the deep rouge of the walls; the room had deep chocolate and tan accents, which blended nicely with the wood.

I turned my head to the right just in time to see a large, majestic door slide open – everything in this room was well-kept, including the doors, which did not squeak upon opening. A lock of brunette hair fell across the tanned face that had opened the door and now peeked in.

"Honey, she's awake!"

The door slid open more to reveal the tall frame of my best friend. Angela looked fashionable, as always, but today was one of her "it's a 'whatever' Thursday and I threw on whatever felt right and matched" days. She wore a beige shirt underneath a long hunter green vest. Her long legs were clad in dark blue jeans, and she padded barefoot across the thick rug. Around her neck hung a Kelly green necklace, which mixed but did not quite match with the rest of her ensemble; some would call it artistic flair, but I knew that it was a sure sign that something was worrying her.

"Sweetie…" she did nothing but plod across the rug and sit next to me; she then wrapped her arms around me. I was still disoriented.

"Where are we, Ange?" I asked incoherently.

"Um…we're in bedroom number…" her brow furrowed as she thought.

"Eighteen," Hodgins finished as he stepped through the doorway. While Angela had bee-lined over to me, Hodgins carefully entered the room using slow motions – he approached me as one might approach a frightened dog, not wanting to provoke it or alarm it. "You've never been to my house, have you Dr. B?"

"No. But from my observations and your information, I assume it is quite large," I replied.

"Sweetie, he has thirty three bedrooms. That qualifies as 'quite large,'" Angela said.

"And you don't even _want_ to know how many bathrooms we have," Hodgins quipped.

"How did I get here? I remember being in the hospital…walking down a long hallway…two amicable doctors…" Suddenly my breath was strangled. It was like someone cast my fuzzy memories through a different lens, bringing them into focus. Perhaps that lens was a pair of warm brown eyes. Perhaps it was a charm smile. Perhaps it was a last joke. Perhaps it was a karaoke rendition of "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." But now I pieced together my ragged last two days.

"Booth…" I choked out.

Angela's arms tightened around me, and I saw streaks of silver tear down her lovely face. Hodgins bit his lip firmly, trying to muster strength.

"How did I get here?" I asked.

"They had to sedate you after they found you in the morgue," Hodgins answered. "You were –"

"Really, really far gone," Angela finished. "You had completely lost it." I choked at the thought of my carefully placed walls, built with detached coolness and cemented by countless times where I had been proven right – I was destined to be abandoned – crumbling. In public.

"We brought you back here, Dr. B. We figured you'd want to wake up with the people that love you," Hodgins said, calmly but firmly. "We didn't want you to be alone." I remembered the time where we had been buried alive, and how he had promised that we would never be alone in our terror from that experience. I saw now that he was keeping his promise – I could not ask for a better friend than he or Angela.

"What time is it?" I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

"It's around eight thirty P.M. You were out for a while, sweetie."

"There's food in the kitchen if you –"

"No, I'm fine. I need to go, really," I said curtly.

"Bren, stay with us for a while. We're as torn up about this as you are," Angela whispered, keeping her sobs at bay. From the look of her face, she had been crying them a while.

"Thank you, but I can't," I said as I quickly stood. "I really have to be going. Is my car out front?"

"Yes, but don't you think that –"

"I'll be fine. Don't worry."

"Bren, you probably shouldn't drive –"

"I'll be fine, thank you!" I called over my shoulder as I rushed out of the room. The couple did nothing to stop me.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

I had never believed in what people called "autopilot" – when the brain goes on a rest and the body keeps functioning. I believed that the mind must always be working, ticking away like an old grandfather clock, and that it always controlled the actions of the body. The brain could never go off-task; the body would die otherwise.

Having stated my previous beliefs, I could not logically explain how I arrived at Booth's townhouse without consciously deciding that I was going to go there.

I parked the car; his black FBI-issued truck was nowhere in the nearby vicinity. I tried to ignore the uneasy feeling that gave me as I strode towards his front door. I wasn't sure how I was going to get in, considering that I did not possess a key allowing me entrance…but I wasn't sure of a lot of things right now. For once, I didn't have a pre-calculated and proof-checked plan of action. I was working with a rough draft.

_Booth is capable of losing his house key, _I thought. _Therefore, he would logically hide a spare somewhere in the area… _I checked underneath the doormat. Nothing. Anything on the upper lip of the door frame? Nope. Underneath the we-haven't-been-watered-in-weeks house plants? No.

Next to one _very_ dead potted plant, I saw a fake rock. Turning it over, I saw a sliding compartment. _Dumbo!_, I thought. _Or was it Banjo? B-A-N-J-O, B-A…was that the song Parker was singing?_

Removing the hidden key, I replaced the rock and slid the cold metal into the lock. It turned swiftly, and I walked, unfeeling, into the familiar hallway. I shut my eyes – I wasn't sure if I wanted to see this. Yet I kept walking forward to his kitchen. Blame it on the autopilot, Temperance.

Opening my eyes, I looked around. His apartment did not appear as I write them in my books, devoid of human touch and care for days, all coated with a thickening layer of dust and the unsettling look of a home that had not held anyone for days.

It looked like someone had just been here.

The kitchen light was on. One of Booth's suit jackets was slung over a chair in his living room, which connected to the kitchen, and the TV was playing some E-S-N-P thing of sorts. Something bit at the innards of my stomach, and I clutched both my arms around my waist. _Autopilot, Temperance. Press on._

I snuck slowly into Booth's bedroom – I had never been in this part of his house, but I'd been here enough times to know where it was. Nudging the door open with my foot, I stepped in.

A choked cry escaped my buttoned lips when I saw his bed.

The sheets were still rumpled, and I could faintly see where he had last lain. His pillows were shifted so that it looked like he had rested his head on two and curled his strong arms around another. Indentations in the foot of the bed showed me where he had kicked in his last sleep, probably from a fitful dream. Finally, a large decline in the left side of the mattress showed me that he favored that side.

I could picture him – no, I could practically _see_ him – getting up from his sleep, throwing his covers aside in the pissed-off face he makes when he's awoken too early from his slumber, and stomping off towards the bathroom childishly. It didn't look like Booth died three days ago – it looked like he'd gone to take a shower.

So I sat on the bed, letting my pelvis rest in the valleys his abdomen had made, and I stared at the closed bathroom door. He would come out, and be surprised that his partner was sitting on his bed – hopefully he had a robe, or a towel, so he wouldn't be too embarrassed – but he would be here. _He would be here._

Eventually, I got up and barged into the bathroom. "Booth," I whined, "you're taking too long!"

There were water drops still in the sink. Little droplets kissed the glass of his shower, occasionally running down together like two young lovers escaping to elope. The towels were disheveled – damp to the touch.

But he wasn't there.

I stared into the mirror with pleading eyes, begging the reflection to show me his face. I didn't care if he was mad at me. I didn't care if he would use the night in The Checkerbox as a trump card in every argument we would have for the rest of our partnerships. I didn't care if he was happy to see me, or if he would throw me out of his house. Hell, I didn't care if he arrested me.

But he wasn't there.

Tears slipped down my ragged cheeks once more. How much water did I have left in me? How could I possibly have any more energy to sob as I did? Where was this coming from?

Where had I hidden all this…emotion?

"Autopilot," I whispered to myself. "Autopilot..."

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

**I'm so sorry this took so long to update! I promise this weekend that I'll have plenty of new stuff up for all you dedicated readers! I love you all!**

**Please review!**

**Vehe**


	7. Day Four: Booth

Day Four: Booth

**Hello again!**

**I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated…the good news is, however, that I've outlined most of the chapters for the rest of this story. That means I don't have to be creative and think them up anymore, so more chapters should start churning out at a faster pace.**

**This **_**should**_** have been up sooner, as I was almost done…then the train of thought that was **_**Anniversaries **_**popped up and threw me headlong into this crazy ride. Which was awesome – fifty reviews! FIFTY! All because I was inspired by my dear boyfriend. **

**But, nonetheless, here's the next part!**

**Ariacle – **I know, I know. I feel awful for what I'm doing to Brennan. But it wouldn't be a good story if she wasn't distraught. Thank you again for reading! You're so wonderful!

**Dawnsfire – **I'm glad you picked up on that. I wanted to give her the impression that she just missed him – which she literally did – but her hyper-rational mind won't make allowances. She can't believe that Booth's dead, but she honestly thinks he is, so it's like the world is tormenting her with all the evidence of "he was just here." He literally _was_ just here, but she doesn't get that. Which throws poor Tempe into an emotional tailspin.

**Lillendream – **Hm…haven't thought of that. I'll take it into consideration though. Thanks for reading!

**Joanne loves bb – **Sorry it took so long! I'm so happy you liked it! Thank you!

**Rhea – **Thanks again girl!

**Mistress Maerad – **Thank you so much!

**Medenbar – **I know…the things I do to poor Tempe…. Thank you for reading! Hope you like the next chapter!

**Crazycamera – **Thank you! I like your reviews!

**Bb4evr – **Sorry the update took so long! Thank you for reading!

**Peacockgirl **- I felt the same thing. Thank you so much! Are you working on another _Bones_ fic yet? (Hopeful look)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Bones_. If I did, well, this story probably would have been covered in the script.

* * *

"Ever been to South Carolina, Booth?" he asked me. The digital clock in the dashboard read 1:37 A.M.

"Yes sir. My family used to go to a beach there when I was a kid, sir."

"Booth," Cullen chuckled, letting his eyes drift from the sleepy road to my side of the car, "you don't need to be so formal. We're not in the office, I'm not assigning you a case, we're not in court, and it's almost two in the morning. You can talk to me like I'm a friend, not your boss."

"Sorry, sir. I mean –" I sheepishly backtracked. The "sir" thing was a reflex.

"Sam. Or Cullen, if you don't want to call me by my first name, because I sure as hell won't be able to have a mature conversation with you while calling you Seeley," he joked.

I grinned. "That's fine. Booth's sort of become like my first name anyways. I couldn't take a 'Seeley' seriously either."

* * *

"So, where've you been in South Carolina?"

"Charleston, I think. Maybe Seabrook."

"Or somewhere in between?"

"Yeah," I grinned at my boss. "Somewhere with a beach."

"Oh! That narrows it down."

"Really?"

"No." I felt a foolish flush creep across my face.

"Why do you ask?" I questioned.

He frowned, contemplating the outcomes of whatever his answer would be. "I guess it's safe to tell you now," he shrugged. "I have a place in the mountains there where you'll be staying for the next ten days or so. It's in this tiny town called Lawrence – there are only about a thousand people, but you won't need to go out very often. The property has about a hundred acres on it, and you can go anywhere you want on the property, but it'd be best if you stay out of the public eye."

Well, that was understandable. General rule of thumb – if you didn't want to be found, don't let people find you in the first place. But I cringed at the thought of being my only company for ten days.

"Why the long face?" He must have noticed my grimace.

"Um…I was thinking that it's gonna get pretty lonely, being by myself and all," I explained.

"Well, you won't be totally alone. I have a dog there – a Jack Russell named Daisy. She's a sweetheart – the cleaning lady feeds her and she pretty much lives on her own up there. But when there's a person around, she's like a second shadow. My wife loves her."

Well, that was something to look forward to. Goodbye, worldly interactions. Hello, doggie. _At least it breathes_, I thought sourly, _or I'd be talking to the trees. _

"Thank you, Sam," I responded, the informality of his name awkward in my mouth. "You know, for, uh, letting me crash your place."

"Eh, well, it's the least I can do for you getting shot on-job by some deranged suspect who thought she was gonna marry you," he smirked, the little light in the car's interior dancing playfully across his eyes. "Although, they would have been some pretty interesting kids…"

"That is _not_ funny."

"On the contrary, the rest of the agents in the office and me think it's hilarious."

"Don't worry sir, next time I meet a slightly-insane suspect with a knack for stalking people, I'll send her right to your office."

"And I'll make sure she's redirected to yours."

"Which will be locked."

"I'll give her the master key."

"We have a master key? I thought you pitched the thing after last year's April Fools jokes!

"It's in safe keeping," he muttered, and my face lit up, thinking of the possibilities for _next_ year's pranks. "And it's NOT with someone you can beat the crap out of, Booth," he added quickly.

"So then it's with someone you can charm?" I asked, putting on my partner's favorite grin.

"You know what Booth? We should have left you dead."

I smiled smugly. "I'll take that as a yes."

* * *

Around five thirty, we stopped at some little diner for a quick bite. To my surprise, Cullen ordered chocolate chip pancakes.

"Sir?" I asked when the waitress brought our plates, sliding a stack of pancakes with chocolate chip smiley faces, whipped cream, and cherry eyes in front of my boss.

"What?" he shrugged, cutting into his meal with the enthusiasm of a six year-old.

"Aren't you a little old to be ordering off the kid's menu?"

He laughed through a mouth full of maple syrup and thick whipped cream. "It's something my daughter turned me onto." I thought back, for a chilling moment, to the case we worked on his daughter. I felt my stomach plunge, appetite in tow.

Cullen looked up at me with knowing eyes. "Don't beat yourself up about it, Booth. I miss her every day, but if it's one thing Amy taught me, it's to tell people you love that you love 'em. Cherish the moment, y'know?"

I chewed thoughtfully, thinking of my family – Mom, Dad, Parker, Jared – and then of my _family_ – my squints. My partner. My Bones.

"You put any thought into that list, Booth?" he asked, pulling me from my reverie.

"Yeah."

He pulled a sheet of paper from his chest pocket, along with a ballpoint pen. "When you're ready," he said. I picked up the pen, fingering it. "Try to keep it simple," he said. "You know, many mouths lead to many slips."

_Janet Booth_, I wrote. She would be devastated to find out that I was dead, and she was in her sixties. Of all the times she joked that I'd be the death of her when I was younger, I didn't want that to literally happen.

_Roger Booth,_ I wrote, grimacing. I guess he deserved to know too.

_Edward Booth_. Grandpa deserved to know too.

_Jared Booth_. I contemplated not telling him, seeing if he'd still get into trouble knowing that nobody was around to save his sorry ass.

_Parker Booth_. I scratched into the paper, underlining it for good measure. _He's the most important one on here,_ I thought, feeling a pang in my chest.

_Rebecca Simpson._ As much as I disliked her at times, she was the mother of my child. And the last thing I needed was for her to be writing Captain Fantastic into the custody papers.

I made a list next, putting a box around it to draw attention. Doodling an arrow out to the side, I noted, "EXTREMELY IMPORTANT" by its side.

_The Squints:_

_Camille Saroyan_

_Angela Montenegro_

_Jack Hodgins_

_Zach Addy_

I had saved her for last but not least. My best friend. My partner. I realized, with crushing guilt, that she was probably going through hell right now. And I realized, with crushing affection, that I missed her like crazy. I wrote her name, again and again in the same place, making deep indentations in the paper and poking through it in one place. An idiot couldn't miss this.

_**Dr. Temperance Brennan.**_

* * *

**I know this chapter was sort of filler-y, and I'm sorry. But the next one is ready, and is pretty long! **

**I have a deal for you guys. You wonderful people posted ten reviews for the last chapter – if you can match that, the next one will be up by the end of the day. If not, it goes up tomorrow.**

**Take the bribe? Yes? Please? Anyone?**

**I love all of you wonderful people. **

**Vehe**


	8. Day Four: Brennan

**Hey everybody! You guys did it! Here's the next update!**

**I'd like to note two wonderful songs that helped me write this chapter. "Address in the Stars" by Caitlin & Will and "Forever" by Rascal Flatts greatly helped. Check em out. :)**

**Mistress Maerad – **Haha thank you! I love them too. Actually, Daisy was a dog I met at a horse show two weekends ago, and she was just so full of life that I wrote her into the story. So Booth _better_ not shoot her, because if he does, I'll be very mad at him.

**A – **Thank you!

**Angeldream05 – **Thank you!

**Medenbar – **Thanks!

**Crazycamera – **I miss having that connection to Booth's workplace too. Thanks for reviewing!

**Smartxblonde – **Thanks! I hope you like this next chapter!

**Ariacle – **Thank you so much! I always love getting reviews from you! They always make my update!

**Cmf227 –** Thank you!

**Mac – **I wish he had told them too, but now I get to write a story! Thanks!

**Dawnsfire – **No squints were told, no. Thank you for reviewing!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Bones_. If I did, there would be no such thing as summer breaks, which are, at the moment, driving me completely insane.

* * *

The security guard had given me one of _those_ looks when I walked in the building.

I hadn't been on the receiving end of one of _them_ in a while, but I remembered how it felt vividly. I got the first one when I met my first agent from the system. Ruth Hillsman – that was her name. She had the nerve, the _audacity_, to walk into my room and look at me like _that. _Her eyes were full of pity; they cast a gaze upon me that made me feel like I was six, not sixteen. It was subtle, yet it was filled with power, derogatory power that made me crumble beneath its quiet intensity. It was proof that I was alone, because people don't pity people with friends. It was proof that I was shattered, because people don't pity people who are whole. It was proof – at least for me – that I was broken. The whole _world_ knew I was broken, and it could merely _look_ at me and prove it.

But most of all, it was proof that I could never, ever be fixed. People don't pity people who can be put back together again.

I cried when she looked at me, buckling at my knees underneath the racking sobs that shook my body. I cried for the little girl who had been killed, brutally _murdered_, by what my parents did to me – because when they left, they broke me. And the whole world knew that I couldn't be fixed.

After that first visit – after Mrs. Hillsman finally _left_ – I swore that I would fix myself. I would rebuild myself into a Temperance Brennan who nobody would ever pity.

I worked eighteen years for that goal. And all of it went out the window when the guard looked at me. I could have cried right there.

"Charlie, I'm fine. You don't need to look at me like I'm broken," I chastised the guard, attempting to mask the break in my speech with a cough. It didn't work – his eyes grew more pitiful.

Why was it so unprofessional to throw oneself on the ground and sob until sleep came to rock the crying person into the safety of unconsciousness?

"I'm sorry for your loss, Dr. Brennan," he spoke quietly, eyes never leaving me.

_Which one? _I wanted to ask. _The death of my partner or the death of a little girl who will never be perfect again? Because I've been mourning her for years, and nobody's ever said anything about _her_ before._ But instead of lashing out, I carefully repainted the mask of stolid professionalism I was so good at hiding beneath. I let my features go lax, allowed the analytical glint I got in my gaze to return. Professional. Detached. Cold. Yes, very cold indeed.

"Thank you, Charlie, but I assure you I'm fine." With that I whisked down the long, dark hallway to the Medico-Legal component of the building.

I don't know why I expected the lab to be lively, with people bustling about. Surely, murderers weren't taking a break – why should we? But as I strode through the double doors that lead to the only place I ever really felt at home, I was shocked.

The lab was deserted. No body rest atop the platform. No squints bustled over it, trying to decipher its innate mystery so we could lay the body _to_ rest. No laughter bubbled from Angela. No Hodgins resonated in his deeper tone to his love's humor. No explosions blasted from Zack and Hodgin's area, no sirens blared, and no Cam chastised the two for doing something foolish but oh-so-funny.

No, no energy erupted from this place I called home. The lights weren't even on.

I walked silently up to the platform, the only sound echoing being my footsteps upon the hardened steps. I looked at the stainless surgical table before me. I was glad it lay bare – if _he_ had to die at all, I was…content that he died in this way. It was…good to know who had killed him, and that person had already been brought to a silent justice by the firing of his gun in his partner's hand. I was glad the table lay bare, because although for years I had wanted to take him apart, analyze him like a machine, see how his brains and heart and mind and soul really _worked_, this was not the way I wanted to figure him out. Flesh from muscle, muscle from bone, no. I was glad Booth died intact.

I was finally saying it now – "Booth died." "Booth is dead." Death was part of the natural cycle of life. And although I felt his time had come far, far too soon, who was I to judge what nature governed? He was a man, among six billion others – what did it matter to the earth if he perished? He was a good man, but there were others like him. His death was not significant in the course of life itself.

_Liar,_ part of me whispered to my hyper-rational brain. _Liar._

I turned to the steps and watched them, part of me believing that any moment now he would burst into the room. "Bones," he would say, giving me that confused look he always gave me when I was doing something he didn't understand, "why are you working in the dark?"

But no one came through the doorway. No one jounced up the steps. No one smiled in such fashion that could make Antarctica melt.

I stood alone.

I stood alone.

I stood completely, utterly, entirely alone.

A phone rang distantly, pulling me from my thoughts. I ascertained that it came from my office, so I stepped down from the platform and went to answer it. Upon opening the door, my eyes immediately flew to the jacket he had left slung over my couch; I was crushed by a burning sensation of pain. A small gasp escaped from my mouth. Shutting my eyes, and therefore, the rest of the world, I blindly made my way to my desk. Collapsing into my chair, I felt around for the phone. Finding it, I answered:

"Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"Sweetie?"

"Angela?" I asked, shocked to hear my best friend's voice. I expected my publisher, or maybe someone from the FBI – but not her.

"Bren, why are you in the office?"

I knew what was coming but I plowed ahead anyway. "I decided to get some work done, although it seems that I am the only one participating in this notion."

"Maybe because we just suffered a loss, Sweetie. One of us _died._ We're taking time off to _mourn_."

"I don't see the purpose."

"Bren, even _Zach_ stayed home today. If he can, then Lord knows so can you." Even Zack, perhaps the closest thing in the world to me, was deserting me.

"Murderers aren't taking a break. Neither can I."

"Do you have a case?"

"Um, no, but –"

"Are you working on something from Limbo?"

"Not at the moment, but –"

"Then what are you doing?" she asked matter-of-factly.

I didn't know. "I don't know, Ange."

I heard her sigh on the other end of the line, using her I-know-you-too-well-Temperance-Brennan sigh. "Sweetie…you're trying to compartmentalize, but the bigger, better part of you is secretly still looking for Booth. Booth's gone," I heard her voice break, and I felt my chest throb, "and we can't change that, but," she took a hardened breath, "trying to go on as normal won't help."

"But we can't stop."

"Bren, sometimes life has to stop."

"That is physically impossible!"

"Brennan. Take time to grieve. Stop and remember your partner. You _owe_ him that."

"I don't owe him anything! He's not physically alive to owe anything _to_!"

She sighed again. "Go home, sweetie. Look at pictures. Remember everything that happened. I'll call you again tomorrow." Then the line went dead. Had she given up on me, or did she have nothing left to say? Did I need the silence?

"Booth," I called out in my empty office. "I don't know what to do."

Silence.

"Booth?"

Silence still.

A choked sob. "Booth?"

Nothing.

I was alone.

I was alone.

I was completely, utterly, entirely alone.

* * *

**Please review! Longer chapters are on the horizon!**


	9. Day Five: Booth

**Hey everyone!**

**Happy Thanksgiving! I'm sorry I disappeared – life took a hectic turn, and then when I got everything sorted out, school started – things were just a mess. But I think I can continue now!**

**I'm so, so, so, so, so sorry for leaving everyone hanging. **

**Thanks:**

**Rhea Michelle Malone – **Thank you so much for your praise!

**Ariacle – **I'm so sorry I disappeared. I still love your reviews!

**Dawnsfire – **I think that there's still a little heartbroken girl in Brennan that nobody gets to see. And, even though she's normally pretty bad about picking up on the obvious, even this can't escape her. I really like to play around with the unresolved pain behind those blue eyes (in a nonmasochistic way, of course.)

**Csimesser1 – **Thank you!

**Pip31319 – **Thank you! Sorry the update took so long!

**Angeldream05 – **Thank you so much! Enjoy the next chapter!

**bb-4ever – **Here's the next chapter! Thank you!

**Yada yada yada – **Thank you, thank you, thank you for your copious compliments! They really mean so much to me. I hope you're still reading!

**Daniyell37 –** Thank you! I hope you like this next part!

**ForgottenAngerCourter – **Hopefully I make you laugh too!! Thank you for reading. And I'm glad my words are powerful enough to elicit tears!

**Kalidris – **Thank you so very much!!

**On with the next chapter! I hope people are still reading!**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Bones. If I did, I would assume my rightful place as Bones and Booth's daughter, and I would be dating my boyfriend Wendell, who would **NOT** be sleeping with my aunt. That's just creepy, Wendell.

* * *

**Booth**:

This bed was way too comfortable.

I could feel the morning sunlight fanning across my bare back. The soft, downy comforter caressed me until my waist – there, another warm body took over, snuggling into my chest. I sighed contently – this was the life.

Or at least, it _was – _until I felt a warm, sticky tongue slide across my skin.

"Agh!" I complained, pushing whatever sick-minded woman that lay beside me away. "What the hell do you think you're doin'? I was _shot_ there, for Christ's sake!"

I opened my eyes – I had to squint, it was so goddamn bright, but I could faintly make out a white, furry object next to me. A little wider now, I coaxed my sleepy eyelids, and there sat Daisy. The dog. I had been snuggling with a dog the size of a football. I could punt the thing. Hell, Parker could punt the thing.

"This is just great," I muttered, glaring at the creature. She wagged her stubby tail in response. Great – so she was a morning person. "You are definitely not the cuddler I expected." Her doggy mouth widened into a lopsided grin. I recklessly rolled over, trying to ignore the resulting pain shooting through my right side. Maybe if I ignored her, she'd go away.

All was still. I sighed, pain subsiding, snuggling back into my pillow. Maybe I could go back to sleep…

Suddenly, with the litheness of a cat, the Jack Russell Terrier flung her little body forward, landing on the top of my pillow. She wasted no time in attacking my face with doggy kisses.

"AGHHH!!" I roared, bolting up in response. I twisted around, trying to look at the mutt. She sat on my pillow, head cocked to the side, tail wagging. I grumbled at her – you know, one of those man-growls when we don't know what to say, but we're still angry, so we, y'know, grumble. She barked in response.

So much for sleeping in.

* * *

An hour later, I was standing in the kitchen, wearing nothing but my sweatpants and leprechaun socks. I had made peace with the dog – when I found a jumbo-sized box of my favorite cereal on the counter, and a fully-stocked pantry and even more fully-stocked beer cooler, it was hard to stay angry. She was contently eating her puppy chow in a bowl at my feet.

"So, Daisy," I began, mumbling through a mouthful of Fruit Loops, "what shall we do today? We got nothing but time." I felt like I was in high school ahead – nothing to do, world at my feet, dog by my side. She looked up, a little Pedigree drabbling from her chin, and gave me that lopsided smile.

"You wanna go hiking, huh girl? Good plan." I petted her with my foot, her wagging tail tickling me.

This might not be so bad.

* * *

About an hour later, we had found our way about three miles into one of the many trails surrounding the Cullen property. I had quickly changed, throwing on a black t-shirt, an open grey flannel shirt, and blue jeans. Cullen had a worn-in pair of hiking boots in the closet which I had donned – he had left me a note on the counter stating that I "could borrow whatever I wanted."

I hoped that applied to the beer.

Daisy ran about five yards ahead of me, happily bounding over roots and bumps in the trail. She had found a squirrel about ten minutes earlier, and spent five minutes chasing it around a patch of trees – the mutt was fast, but not _that_ fast. She had hung her head a little bit as she trotted back to my side, but now she seemed perfectly content with being a trailblazer. I followed her wagging tail through the forest.

Eventually, she bounded up onto a rock and sat down, panting happily, her tongue flopping out one side of her mouth. The rock overlooked a river, which made its path about ten or twelve feet below. The sun came through the trees to the east, casting the entire expanse in a warm, spring light. It looked like one of the places I used to go fishing with Pops.

_Pops_, I thought, a ragged smile forming on my face. _I wonder how he's doing. _He and I spoke on a regular basis – in fact, we had spoken the night before I got shot – but I couldn't help but worry that he hadn't been notified that my death was fake. He'd love that, actually – _"'Atta boy, Squirt, way to pull the wool over their eyes" _he'd say – but he'd be extremely upset if he thought I was actually _dead_.

Wouldn't he?

Would anyone be that upset? Sure, people would be hurt, but who would really _miss_ me? Was I that significant in anyone's life?

Parker. Parker would miss me. My son, my flesh and blood, would miss me. That was some comfort.

But Rebecca had Captain Fantastic now. And Parks was only eight – too young to really understand what was going on. Becca would tell him that I had gone to Heaven to be with Jesus and God, and he'd think I was an angel and I was spreading snowflakes and helping the sun rise. He would be fine. There would be tears, and maybe some sleepless nights with bad dreams, but he would be fine.

Pops would miss me. But he'd already lost Grandma ten years ago. His son abandoned his family. Pops, if anyone, was good with dealing with grief. At my funeral, they'd hand him my flag as they performed the twenty-one gun salute, but he was too much of a man to grieve in front of complete strangers. He had warned me, back when I joined the army and then again when I joined the bureau, that no matter how many times a man cheated death, all it took was one time where death cheated him, and that was it. He knew to expect death, eventually. He'd know, and understand, and be proud of me. He would be fine.

The squints, maybe? Angela would raise all hell, sobbing and throwing herself at Hodgins for comfort – that was her way of showing how big her heart was. Hodgins would grieve the loss of a good friend – maybe even a good man – and he would vow that I would live on, unforgotten. Zack would rationalize – _death is inevitable, life is ephemeral, _all that crap – but I wasn't even sure that Zack possessed the full range of human emotions. Cam, Cam would be upset – we had been friends for almost twenty years – but she was a cop, at heart. She knew the reason we had stopped dating was because something like this could happen. She'd find humor in the fact that, in the end, I was right. And she'd miss me – a friendship of two decades cannot die unnoticed – but she'd grieve her oldest friend and move on. She was the leader, and she had squints to guide. And they'd dutifully follow her mantra of _"Murderers don't take breaks when we do, people. Back to work. For Booth."_

All except one.

Bones.

How would Bones handle my death? She was my best friend – I was closer to her than I was to anyone in this world. She would miss me, wouldn't she? I hoped – I hoped, for the love of God – that I wouldn't be one of the many, many things that she would rationalize, neatly place in a box, and shove to the back of her too-big brain. I was her best friend, damn it. I deserved more than a theoretical explanation; I deserved to be more than another tally mark on her mission to show the world that emotions were fleeting, and therefore, pointless.

…Would she even _miss_ me?

She had told me many times when we first started working together – _"There are thousands of you, Agent Booth. There is only one of me."_ At the time, that's all I was to her – expendable.

But this was almost four years later. Four years of cases, of court rooms, of late nights, of coffee, of bickering, of winning, of friendship. Was I still just a badge to her?

She was more than that to me.

She was much more than that to me.

I gazed out over the river, eyes darting to a spot where the sun made the water shine a familiar shade of blue. It was almost funny, the little ways she had wormed herself into my life. It was almost physically impossible for me to walk into a coffee shop and order a cup for myself without naturally ordering one for her as well. Certain blue things attracted me, because they reminded me of her eyes. There were as many photos of her in my apartment as there were of my son; in fact, my favorite was one of her _with_ my son. Hell, even furniture shopping involved her – I had decided against a recliner last week because I knew that Bones wouldn't approve.

What the hell had this woman done to me?

I didn't love her. She was my partner, my best friend, my constant. It was natural for us to be this close, by nature of our jobs, right?

Sighing, I quickly made the Sign of The Cross, wearily clasping my hands together. "Lord," I started, "give me guidance on the…" what word was right here? Friend? Obstacle? Constant pain in the ass? Joy? "…woman that is Dr. Temperance Brennan. She is my best friend – you know that, you've seen how we work together – but lately, I feel –" I stopped, took a deep breath. "More."

"It's unprofessional," I continued. "And it's unreasonable. She – she sees the world through her scientific mind, and I see it differently. We – we can't be together. She doesn't believe in love; she doesn't want to be loved. Lord, I-I, I don't want to ruin what we have. I don't want to lose her. Please Lord, help me rein this in. Don't let my stupidity make me lose her."

Daisy nestled into my side, licking my hand in an almost-reassuring manner. I sighed. "See, girl," I tried to explain, "we could be really, really good together. But she doesn't want any of that – she doesn't want me as anything more than a badge. And if I don't keep my heart in check, I'm gonna lose control – I'm gonna snap one day, and do something really stupid, and she'll run away, and I'll, I'll never see her again. She means too much to me, Daisy. I can't lose her."

The dog crawled into my lap and sat there; strangely, I felt better. I ran my hand down her coat, and her tongue lolled out of her mouth in a crooked grin.

"Thanks girl," I mumbled, petting her. "It's good to know someone has my back." We sat there, in silence, until the light no longer came through the trees.

* * *

**If there are any of you out there that aren't livid with me for completely disappearing, please let me know! Once again, I am so, so, so very sorry and I hope all of you can forgive me!**

**Love and lots of turkey,**

**Vehe**


End file.
